bobby f and my most favorite-est poem

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of the easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

there is just something about this poem that speaks to me. the stolen moment of a long journey, the brief pause and reflection by the side of a snowy forest. a story that is hinted at but never revealed. it honestly reminds me a particular period in my life. 

in high school, there was a particular stretch of road in my neighborhood. it was long and gently winding. no other streets coming off of it. i would come home late at night and slowly weave my way in the dark. there was one house in particular. i never knew the owner. but i imagined that i did. it was a small brick ranch-style house with black shutters and a two car garage off the side. a couple lived there with older kids. i would see them out on the weekends. the mother and father, taking leaves or watering the garden. the two boys throwing a football or frisbee. just your typical suburban family. happy and content.

but after some years, the kids were never outside and neither was the husband. during the day, i would see the woman tending to her yard or garden. and at night, she would leave her front door open. often till midnight. and there was never more than one car in the driveway. her silver bmw suv. i would drive by and make up countless stories of her life in my head. how and why her husband was not there, why her children were never around, and the most intriguing question. why she would always leave her front door open at night.

then one day, i saw someone else. another man. not the husband. this guy was shorter and had more hair. he wore button ups with no tie and a suit jacket. coming by on the weekends, then during the week. his burgundy altima started to become a fixture in her driveway. then it was there all the time. he would rake the yard. he helped re-plant the garden. and at night, against the window, you could see the flickering colored reflection of the tv. and the front door was closed. 

i still wonder about that lady. and i hope she ended up happy. but i have promises to keep, and miles to go before i sleep, and miles to go before i sleep. (really it was just one mile cause her place wasn't that far from my parent's house)